"Mrs.
Braddock is coming, dad. My, how white she is."
The proprietor's wife moved slowly, even listlessly. Something vital
had gone out of her face, it seemed to David, who knew her only as a
strong, courageous defender. A wan smile crept into her tired eyes as
she carne up to them and asked if she might sit down at their board.
The hand she laid caressingly on Ruby's shoulder shook as if with
ague.
"Jerk up a keester for Mrs. Braddock, Casey," cried old Joey with
alacrity. The contortionist found a small trunk and placed it between
Ruby Noakes and David. Mrs. Braddock thanked him and sat down.
"Have you had your supper, Mrs. Braddock?" asked Ruby.
"I am not hungry," said the other quietly. "A cup of coffee, though,
if you have enough for me without robbing yourselves. You work so
hard, you know, my dears, while I am utterly without an occupation. I
don't need much, do I?"
"You need a snifter of brandy," announced Joey conclusively. He went
off to get it.
Ruby rinsed her own tin-cup and poured out some hot coffee. Casey
called up a boy and sent off to the performer's cook top for a pitcher
of soup, some corned beef and potatoes, ignoring her protests.
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